


A Punchline in Search of a Joke

by jedi_penguin



Category: V (1983)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_penguin/pseuds/jedi_penguin
Summary: Two Visitors walk into a bar....





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlterEgon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/gifts).



> I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season!

The alien who could no longer claim any name other than “Martin” glared balefully across the bar. “Are you certain Donov-- erm, **Mike** didn't tell you when he'd be back?”

“I'm sorry, Martin, but he did not.” Willie looked woebegone, but Martin wasn't sure whether that was because he couldn't help, or if that was because the other Visitor simply didn't have another facial expression. “But I am certain that he will return before dinner. Tonight is our squishy opening, and Mr. Donovan promised that he wouldn't miss it for the globe.”

A voice drifted in from the back room. “Soft opening, Willie. It's our soft opening.” Elias Taylor strolled out, wearing an immaculately pressed tuxedo. Even though Martin was still learning the niceties of human fashion, he knew enough to recognize that the suit fit perfectly and was probably very expensive. “Good to see you, Martin.” He reached out to shake the alien's hand. “You're looking sharp. Big date tonight? I hope you know that Club Creole is the best place in LA to impress that special lady, whoever she might be.”

“No date. Job interview.” Martin's face grimaced. “I don't think it went very well.”

“Hey, man, I'm sorry to hear that.” Elias scanned Martin appraisingly. “Listen. I tell you what. Why don't you sit right down and be our first customer? Willie and me have done all we can to get this place ready; why don't you see if there's any kinks in the system that we should know about before the dinner crowd starts pouring in.”

Martin smiled. “Thank you, Elias. But--”

“Hey! But me no buts.” Elias gave him another look, one that could be either calculating or compassionate. From everything Martin had heard about Elias from Donovan, it was probably both. “Don't worry about it if you ain't got the dough, my man. You've got the **threads**! A dude with your looks is gonna attract the type of customers that I want in this place. You'll be doing me a favor. Besides, it will give Willie a chance to practice his bar tending skills before the place starts hopping.”

Unable to think of a reason to refuse, especially when he needed to stay here until Donovan returned anyway, Martin nodded. “That's very kind of you. Thank you.”

Elias clumped Willie on the shoulder, using the sound of the friendly gesture to cover his whisper. “Domestic. We take care of our friends, **always** , but not always the best stuff. You dig?” Martin guessed that the human didn't know how sharp Visitor hearing actually was.

“Got it, boss.” Elias strolled away and Willie turned to Martin with a professional smile. “What would you prefer? Blood or white?”

Elias ran back to the bar with a muttered curse. “Now, see, there's a kink in the system right there! You say the word 'blood' before a health inspector and we're done before we've even started. How about you go to the other side of the bar, sit beside Martin like you're a second customer, and I'll show you how it's done?” Willie nodded abashedly then did as he was told. Once the two Visitors were side by side, Elias smiled. “Okay. Starting again. What can I get you two cats? White or **red**?”

Willie closed his eyes and quietly whispered “red” to himself several times in a row. Martin ignored him, too intrigued to see how this ritual (for that was clearly what it was) might unfold. “I've noticed that plant-based fermented drinks have an addictive effect upon my people, and I would prefer to avoid them. Do you have any animal-based liquids, by chance?”

Elias gave an elaborate shudder. “No,” he said curtly.

“Yes we do, boss.” Elias glared at his oblivious employee. “My yoghurt drink. In the staff refrigerator.” He turned to Martin. “It is quite tasteable.”

Martin smiled. “I'll try it!” He waved towards the other Visitor. “Make it two.”

Elias disappeared for a moment but soon returned with a large plastic bottle in hand. He pulled out two wine glasses and filled each with a white, frothy liquid. “Here you go. Two _lassi_ s coming up.” Both Visitors nodded their thanks. Martin started to drink his, but noticed that Willie was holding his glass up to Elias. Deciding that was part of the ritual, he did the same, and the club owner smiled broadly. “So. About that interview. What was it for?”

“Pilot, for United Airlines.” 

Elias looked puzzled. “And you said it didn't go well? Correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't flying spaceships around the galaxy kind of your **thing**? Or used to be, anyway?”

“Martin was the best pilot in the fleet.” The other alien looked uncomfortable, but Willie continued anyway. “John was a friend of The Leader's, not a warrior. He did not do well with flying, and all of the Visitors knew that he would not fly in any ship that wasn't piloted by Martin. Therefore, we all knew that he must be the best pilot.”

The pilot shrugged. “It doesn't matter. According to United, ferrying around Supreme Commanders doesn't count as 'relevant experience.' Apparently, 767s are trickier than 'a person such as myself' might think.” 

“They do not trust you. Because you are a Visitor.”

Both Martin and Elias turned towards Willie in amazement, astonished that anyone could say something so obvious with such an air of importance. "That thought had occurred to me." He sighed. “I'm not happy about this, but I do understand it. I've read up on both of your World Wars; suicidal pilots can and have done a great deal of damage with their planes. Our people are not inclined towards suicide in battle, reserving that choice solely for political reasons, but I can understand why airlines might not choose to hire anyone they considered a possible security risk. Even if I have earned the right to be trusted by humans….” 

Elias refilled the two aliens' glasses in a transparent attempt to break the tension. “So, tell me about the whole best pilot in the fleet, thing.” 

“Truthfully, I am a talented pilot, but I suspect that John's reliance upon me might have had more to do with my well connected brother than it did with my own skills.”

“A brother, huh? I had a brother once. I miss him.” Elias reached down and pulled out a bottle of a brown liquid that Martin didn't recognize and a very small glass. He filled it and downed it in one, swift motion. “Now that I think about it, it doesn't seem to me like you guys talk about your families all that often. So, what's your bro's name?”

Martin looked uncomfortable. “These human masks constrict our tongues, making it virtually impossible to pronounce anything in our own language. That is why we all have human names. Since my brother has never come to this planet, he has never been assigned a human name, and I cannot say his true name without attracting attention to myself.”

“Your brother is the Inspector General. Is that correct?” Martin nodded, unsurprised that Willie would know that. Most Visitors knew his brother. “Probably the closest human name would be Phyllis.”

Elias snorted. “I'm guessing Phillip would be better.”

“It doesn't matter,” Martin said harshly. “He'll never need a human name because he's never coming here. Not with the Red Dust. And I'll never see him again.” He chuckled humorlessly. “At least he'll never know that I betrayed my own people.”

“Hey, man, don't tell me that you regret helping us.”

“I don't, Elias. Not really. But you, Mike, Julie, Robert… None of you understand what that help has cost those of us who are still on Earth.” Martin frowned. “I joined the Fifth Column in order to help my **own** people, to free **us** from the Leader's corruption. The reason we Visitors came to invade your world was because the Leader had already destroyed our own with his wasteful policies. Our world is polluted and our colony worlds are rubble, all viability bombed away along with the colonial rebels. If we continue as we are, we will drive ourselves into extinction, yet the Leader will never permit change of any kind as long as he continues to hold power.” He got off the stool and began pacing. “Donovan convinced me that a humiliating defeat on this world would be the best way to weaken the Leader's choke hold at home. It made sense. Draining your planet of its resources is morally reprehensible and would do nothing to solve our planet's long term problems, but if the process could be stopped and the invasion was a failure, your success would help the Fifth Column achieve our true goal of a new government on my own planet. I believe your people call this a 'win-win'."

Elias smiled. "We do indeed. So I still don't understand the problem."

Martin returned to the bar and plopped back into his seat. "The problem is the Red Dust. It's changed everything. The Loyalists fled, unlikely to return, and they have no incentive to be honest about what happened here. The Leader will control what my people hear at home, and no one will ever be able to return to the Earth to learn the truth. And meanwhile, I'm **stuck** here, giving everything I own over to Nathan Bates for antidote pills, but that 'everything' is running out quickly because I'm unable to earn a living here. And why is that? It's because the people I sacrificed everything for don't trust me with their primitive flying machines."

“Hey, Martin. Chill out. Listen, man. You gotta know that those of us who were in the Resistance have your back. We know what we owe you and would never let you starve or melt into Red Dust. If you need dough, we **will** make sure that you have what you need. That's a promise.”

Martin sighed. “I know that, but I also know that it is impossible for you to give any of us Fifth Columnists our lives back. You can't force the air force to put me into a fighter jet, which is where I really belong. Hell, you can't even get **United** to hire me. You'll never be able to get Barbara a license to practice medicine on your planet or to place Lorraine in a lab that analyzes space transmissions. And what about our friend, here? What should you be doing instead of working here, Willie? What was your career designation before you joined the fleet?”

“Janitor.”

Martin blinked in surprise. “Okay, maybe **Willie** has taken a career boost since coming to Earth, but the rest of us? In general, the Fifth Column was filled with the best and brightest minds from our planet, Visitors capable of independent thought and creative solutions. Most of us died fighting Diana, but those of us who survived? We're left scrounging for any work we can get on a planet that isn't our own.”

Elias poured Martin another glass of _lassi_. “So, whatcha gonna do?”

“Mike Donovan offered me a job, should I prove unable to find anything within my own area of expertise. Tony, his previous assistant, was killed by the Visitors. Donovan is willing to train me to replace him even though I have no experience with sound equipment. He told me to meet him here after my interview, so that we could 'iron out the details.' I think he knew before I went that I wouldn't get the job. I think I knew it too.”

“Hey! Don't be so glum. Okay, yeah, it's not your dream job; but at least you've got a line on **something** , man, and that ain't so bad.”

“You're right, of course. It's very kind of Donovan to do this for me.”

“You're even more unhappy because it is kind.” Martin and Elias turned towards Willie in surprise. “You don't want Mr. Donovan's chastity.”

The human broke out in uncontrollable giggles. Both Visitors looked at Elias in confusion as the club owner tried to gasp out an explanation. “I never… never thought of… putting the words **Mike Donovan** and chastity… in the same sentence!” 

Martin scowled for a second and then suddenly burst into laughter himself. Willie began to chuckle as well, clearly not understanding the joke but always willing to join others. Just as their amusement began to subside, a voice from the door called out, “Hey. What's so funny?” Upon seeing the tall cameraman, all three went into renewed paroxysms of laughter.

Once he was able to speak again, Martin offered an explanation to his friend. “I was telling Willie and Elias that you're going to be my new boss.”

Donovan grinned broadly. “Really? That's wonderful! We're going to have a great time working together, Martin. Just you wait and see. You're going to love the news game!” He pulled out his wallet. “Next round's on me. Drinks for everyone in the house!”

“But this isn't a house,” Willie objected. “It's a club. And there isn't an 'everyone' here. There are only the four of us.”

Impossibly, Donovan's grin broadened even further. “I know that there are only the four of us. Why do you think I offered a round for everyone? I'm too broke to buy for a **full** house!” Shaking his head, Elias topped up the Visitors' unfinished drinks, poured himself a glass of red wine, and tossed Donovan a can of beer. The newsman opened the can before Elias could offer him a glass and raised it above his head. “What should we drink to? I vote we drink to Martin's new job!”

A flicker of disapproval flew across Elias's face, there and gone before anyone other than Martin could notice it. Not sure what the human might be thinking but quite certain that he didn't want that thought spoken aloud, Martin imitated his new boss and raised his drink to the same elevation. “My new job!” Both humans drank deeply and the two Visitors copied them.

Rather than putting his glass down, Elias raised it up again. “As the host, I claim the next toast. I want to drink to loved ones lost in the war. To friends and to brothers. To Benjamin!”

“To Tony!”

“To Harmony!”

Martin didn't speak his brother's name aloud, but it rang loudly in his thoughts as he silently raised his glass. Elias nodded at him, and Martin felt a rush of gratitude flow over him. His brother might not be dead, but he was out of the pilot's life forever, and this simple ritual was the first time he had allowed himself to grieve over this loss. Over any of his losses. Grieve and begin the process of accepting. Elias nodded again, and Martin realized that the human had made his toast deliberately, and had done so for him alone. 

Martin was pulled out of his thoughts by Donovan's friendly thump upon his back. “C'mon! We got a new life to plan for you. But let's start with your clothes. You've got a great look for a young military officer moving up the ranks, but you're way too buttoned up to be a newsman.”

“Then I guess it's time to make a change.” Martin smiled. “New clothes for the new me.”

**Author's Note:**

> The suggestion that the Visitors use English because their own language is impossible while wearing human masks comes from A. C. Crispin's novelization of the two miniseries, so it's kind of canon. I did not have time to rewatch the entire television series, so I apologize if there is some element of Visitor culture that I have forgotten.


End file.
